What bold sun does to afternoon:
Evaporates slim golden flanks
In spillways where sun’s rays are hewn
By silver waves and concrete banks;
What moon does to the morning sky,
Hanging unseen behind sun’s rays:
It watches mountains crumble, shy,
And in repose it sinks away;
Fat bluegill dart behind the reeds
Like fingers parting folds of skirt,
Never departing, full of greed,
But, in their lust, they are alert;
Like bream and sun and hiding moon,
My body will hold fast to you.
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